


war of the foxes

by losebetter



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Billy Joel is sung, First Kiss, M/M, Meddling Kids, Pining, Saucy Texting, Slice of Life, Tipsy Love Confessions, Underage Drinking (mild), the author effectively doubled the length of this fic just to mention sojiro sakura once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/pseuds/losebetter
Summary: The woman laughs and swats at him, murmurs,please, honey, you're a treasurebefore lifting her cocktail glass back to her painted lips. Akira doesn't know what's in it, but he's relatively sure it's her third one of the night; he watches her take a dainty sip, the split of red and white liquors in the glass undisturbed by the movement. Something pops into his head -those colors- but he shoves the thought down before it can take root, biting back a sigh.Lala is kind enough to put up with his whining - what she keeps referring to cheekily as hisboy troubles- on the nights he can't hold it back, but he knows better than to let it disturb his work, no matter how endearing she says it is.





	war of the foxes

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set in summer, after the fourth palace but before futaba wakes up - there shouldn't be any spoilers, except maybe for yusuke's route. ★ 
> 
> i wrote this for [q](http://queen-schadenfreude.tumblr.com/), and set it like this because all my akira did all summer was work at the gay bar & hang out with yusuke - this fic is right smack in the middle of that venn diagram! it also makes brief reference to canon child abuse/neglect (madarame) and presents an affect this could've had on yusuke's sexuality. tread thoughtfully!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *there really isn't any sense to me posting this in separate chapters, other than that i'm afraid if i wait and try to post it all at once, it'll never get finished. so i split it kind of arbitrarily. here's the first bit, the second bit will be up... hopefully soon!

Akira loves his job — the clientele is always kind to him, and the atmosphere is surprisingly gentle and welcoming, so far removed from the greasy dive bars in Yongen. Lala looks out for him too, comforting him or making him laugh - if she notices the tense line of his shoulders whenever patrons start gossiping too loudly about the Phantom Thieves or their supposed negligence about Medjed, she doesn’t mention it, only leads the conversation smoothly in another direction.

Tonight has been a good night, the blessedly cool bar lively without becoming obnoxious, so Akira doesn’t mind at all when a woman in a long gown beckons him over for some company with whatever she’s swirling delicately in a wide-brimmed glass.

“Mama Lala’s busy again, huh?” she drawls, with a pout that Akira has learned to not take as an insult.

He nods, and grants her his best humble grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me."

It does its job. The woman laughs and swats at him, murmurs, _please, honey, you're a treasure_ before lifting her cocktail glass back to her painted lips. Akira doesn't know what's in it, but he's relatively sure it's her third one of the night; he watches her take a dainty sip, the split of red and white liquors in the glass undisturbed by the movement. Something pops into his head - _those colors_ \- but he shoves the thought down before it can take root, biting back a sigh.

Lala is kind enough to put up with his whining - what she keeps referring to cheekily as his _boy troubles_ \- on the nights he can't hold it back, but he knows better than to let it disturb his work, no matter how endearing she says it is.

Apparently he hasn't hidden it well enough, because his customer purses her lips, eyeing him with curiosity as she sets her drink back down. She's clearly seen him staring at it, but thankfully lacks the context to figure out why. Although -

"Long night?" she asks, and Akira tries to look bashful.

"My shift's almost over," he explains, rubbing the side of his neck with his palm. "I guess I've got a lot on my mind tonight." He remembers Futaba's message, passed on via a dubious Sojiro, but he feels the heat of rumors as heavily as the stuffy blanket of humidity outside, especially as the month blurs by with no change.

The woman coos sympathetically, then taps the bowl of her glass with one acrylic fingernail. "You want a taste?"

Akira's eyes go wide, but she doesn't look surprised - he wonders if that had been the question on her mind from the beginning.

"Um," he manages awkwardly. "I'm just a student, so…"

She waves him off. "I _know_ , sweetheart, but it's super light!" She smiles, nudging the glass conspiratorially toward him. "Just to take the edge off - it's good!"

It's hard to deny her, even with Morgana's displeasure obvious where he's rustling around in Akira's bag. He leans down toward the bartop to sniff it, and that only tempts him more; it smells sweet and fruity, the colors wobbling tantalizingly without fading into one another.

With a last glance over at Lala to make sure she's distracted, Akira takes the glass clumsily by the stem and tips some of the drink into his mouth, setting it down with a couple of guilty swallows before he's really had the chance to taste it.

But it _is_ good, and far smoother than he'd anticipated any alcoholic drink to be. He licks his lips and gets another burst of cherry and pineapple flavor, feeling warmth travel straight down his throat to settle pleasantly in his belly. The fruit is fresh and sweet, tempered by something creamy that reminds him of the crepe he'd split with Ann earlier in the week.

"It's delicious," he tells his customer honestly, and bows his head when she giggles. He licks his lips again, brows drawn. "Is there mango in it too?"

The woman brushes down her dress and hums, evidently pleased. "Just a little bit," she confirms. "Either you've got good taste…" She winks at him. "Or maybe you're not as buttoned-up as you look, huh?"

Akira blushes. "No, no! Never had it before, I promise," he assures her, and they both laugh.

"And you've still never had it," she reminds him, with a playful set to her lips.

"No ma'am."

He spends the last of his shift hosting a young couple who arrive and sit in one of the booths (two young women, one with cropped hair and the other with hers tied up in silky black ribbons), and as he slips into the back room to hang up his apron, he hears the older woman in the gown calling for his attention from the bar.

"Something else?" he prompts, even though he's technically off the clock.

"I only wanted to thank for taking such good care of me," she tells him, and Akira is about to simply reach for his bag and dismiss the praise with grace - until he sees her surreptitiously pushing what's left in her glass across the bar towards him. She meets his eyes, an intensity to her gaze that makes Akira feel like they're planning a heist.

"O - of course." He starts reaching out for the glass, eyes drifting over to where Lala is mixing a drink for a customer on the other end of the bar. Once he has it in his hand, he smiles. "Anytime."

"Mmm. Take this, would you, charmer?"

There's a decent amount of alcohol left in it, actually, and Akira feels bizarrely touched that he's become enough of a fixture at Crossroads that anyone would take him into account this way. He turns, blocking Lala's view of their hands with his body, and cradles the bowl of her cocktail class in his crooked fingers.

"Consider it done," he says sweetly, inclining his head toward the sink - his partner in crime covers her mouth, muffling a mischievous chuckle. "Have a good night, ma'am."

"You too," she says, waggling her eyebrows, and she gets up to leave at the same time as Akira steps over toward the sink.

What happens next takes less than a minute: almost immediately after he turns to the sink, Akira lifts the glass to his lips and takes a few generous swallows, his cheeks flushed. He only stops when he feels a sugar-slick cherry roll up to touch his upper lip, and he pulls the near-empty glass away on reflex — but he isn't subtle enough, and he meets Lala's gaze at the worst possible time, his bare throat working, the heat making him shiver.

"Kurusu," she warns, skeptical. He dumps the cherry guiltily into the bin under the sink, and hears Morgana groan from his bag. It isn't his finest work, certainly.

She's in front of him in a few strides, looking unimpressed.

"Sorry," Akira blurts, setting the glass down gently in the basin and then raising both hands, palms forward, placating.

Lala eyes the cocktail glass, then turns back to him, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arcing dangerously. "How much was left in that?"

Akira rolls his head on his neck, trying to banish another shiver. Something that sounds suspiciously like Morgana's voice is pounding against his skull, and there's the serious fear that he might get fired along with it, but the warmth of his drink is making it easier to ignore for now, the taste still a delight when he tongues over his teeth.

"Uh, some?" He tries to think. "It was half-full, maybe."

Lala adjusts her crossed arms. "And you're not lying to me?"

"Never, Miss Lala."

Her gaze doesn't ease up, apparently searching him - but after a few seconds she sighs, her shoulders falling.

"Alright," she starts, sounding like Akira has just made her job ten times more difficult, "well, what's done is done." When she cracks her lids open at Akira again she looks weary, but fondness colors her tone. "I guess I should be relieved that you're at least drinking at home."

Akira stares at her, blearily hoping that he's not only so stumped by what she means because of the alcohol he can feel in his system.

"It's a figure of speech, baby," she clarifies generously. 

Akira still can't parse what she's talking about, but she seems willing to give him a pass, so he rushes to change the subject, hauling his bag up onto his back and feeling Morgana's warm body against his shoulderblade.

"Okay." He clears his throat. "I'm - not fired, right?"  
  
"No, but - "

"Cool." Akira gestures toward the door with his thumb. "I'm gonna head out for the night, and - "

" _Akira_ , wait."

Akira does as he's told - honestly, he's not leaving unless Lala moves anyway, based on how the bar is attached to the wall, so maybe trying to avoid a confrontation was a stupid idea to begin with.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes," Lala insists. "You. You're not leaving like this."

Akira tilts his head, lashes fluttering when that does something interesting to his brain. He feels like his eyesight is lagging somehow. "Like what? I'm not drunk, Miss Lala."

Lala sets her hands on her hips. "How would you _possibly_ know?"

And, okay. Maybe she has him there. "She," Akira tries, pointing at where his benefactor of fruity drinks was seated, "uh, she said it was really light." Something about the movement upsets something in his chest, and his body chooses that time to hiccup. God damnit.

"She - " Lala grumbles wordlessly. "That's right, you were helping Iidela tonight…"

"She thinks I'm charming," Akira puts in helpfully, but Lala only rolls her eyes.

" _Mmmhm_ , of course she does. And that _is_ a light cocktail, but I'm thinking she failed to mention it was a double, huh?"

"Ohhh," Akira offers. Maybe that's why he feels a little dizzy. Morgana is thumping his tiny head against his back, as if everything has just gone from life-threatening to world-shattering - which is a complete overreaction, in Akira's opinion.

" _Oh_ is right," Lala says. She gestures for Akira to pass her, and she deftly grabs a pint glass from the shelf and starts filling it with tap water. When it's nearly full, she thrusts it into Akira's hands, and he curls his fingers around it without thinking.

It's lukewarm - he pulls a face, but Lala only frowns, making a _turn around_ motion with her finger and pointing him toward one of the back tables.

"Go," she orders calmly.

"Miss Lala, I'm really - "

She interrupts him with a persistent hand on his shoulder and a noise from the firm set of her lips, like _mm-mmm_. "I have to finish up with a customer," she explains. "Then I'll be over to deal with you, okay? Until then, go, sit, and drink that. Forward march, lightweight."

Feeling sufficiently scolded, Akira ducks away to the farthest booth, sliding into the seat and setting his bag on the sleek vinyl finish of the table with a touch less coordination than usual. He can hear the pouring rain outside, even if Crossroads doesn't have any windows so far down - it should feel claustrophobic, but mostly he just feels cozy and a little sleepy.

Predictably, Morgana wriggles his head out, wee ears quirking, before Akira has even taken a sip of his water.

"What a mess," he pronounces, eyes narrowed.

"It's fine," Akira argues quietly, hunching over to make eye contact with him and adjusting his glasses with one hand. "She already said I'm not gonna get fired," he reminds him.

Morgana doesn't look convinced. "What could she want to talk to you about, then?"

"I dunno," Akira admits. "Maybe she thinks I'm a punk kid and wants to teach me a life lesson about… like… humanity?"

"Humility," Morgana corrects archly. "And you _do_ seem - um…"

"What?"

"Well, you're not exactly the most perceptive person around on your best day, but - "

"Morgana, you're being _so_ judgy about this, and I don't - "

"Are you talking to your cat, baby?"

Akira peeks up from where he'd rested his head on the table to whisper with Morgana - who vanishes back into his bag as soon as Lala rounds on them. Coward.

"Um," Akira says, instead of any one of six responses that would've made the situation even worse. He reaches up to fuss with his hair. "Yeah. In my bag," he adds dumbly.

Lala only sighs, resigned. "Okay. Have you got your phone in there, somewhere?"

Akira automatically takes it out of his pocket and holds it out to her without thinking - maybe he deserves her raised eyebrow.

"Good," she affirms anyway. "Now, call someone."

Akira blinks. "Who?"

Lala waves her hand at the wrist. "Look. I don't want you stumbling through Shinjuku at this time of night when you're not thinking straight. Who've you got?"

It takes Akira a moment to process what she's asking him to do, but thankfully he gets it when she gestures to his phone, and he unlocks it to thumb over to his recent contacts, deliberating.

First up is Sojiro, which might make sense as his legal guardian - but Akira doesn't know how he'd begin to explain what's going on. Sojiro doesn't even know he works in Shinjuku, and he decides he'd prefer to keep it that way.

Second on the list is… Yusuke. Akira eyes his bag, where Morgana's disapproval is still radiating like its own physical presence. There's really no good reason for him to contact Yusuke about this; even if he's still awake, he's probably the least likely of his friends to be able to make his way anywhere on short notice, much less all the way to Shinjuku in the middle of the evening's downpour.

But Akira thinks about him, imagines spending time with him while he's still feeling warm and affectionate, and a smile creeps up onto his face. He looks at their most recent exchange of messages from just a few hours prior ( _"I will have to sneak you into the studio after hours…" "Sounds like fun! I really wanna see it, pleeeease," "I cannot deny your sense of adventure anything. :-) Very well, next week."_ ) and suddenly wants to hear his voice so badly that he mashes the button to call him before he can stop himself.

He holds the phone up to his ear, and nods at Lala when she looks askance at him before she goes to help a customer - to his delight, it starts ringing, and he settles his chin in his palm while he waits.   
  


* * *

 Yusuke is sketching, huddled up against the wall on his bed, when his phone starts chirping at him. The tone is enough to make him pause, not his usual alert, and for another few seconds he only blinks owlishly at it — then he puts together all at once that he’s getting a phone call, and he scrambles to reach for it, bending over his folded legs and sweeping his hair behind his ear.

“Yusuke Kitagawa,” he prompts, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels - he squints out his open window, noting the pounding rain that’s turned the evening pitch dark. It’s definitely past working hours for any of the galleries he’s been in contact with, but -

“Oh, good,” rumbles a friendly voice on the other line, and Yusuke relaxes, feeling a smile pull at the corner of his lips, “I’m very glad Yusuke Kitagawa… is answering Yusuke Kitagawa’s phone. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Good evening, Akira,” he replies automatically, sitting back and setting his sketchbook aside. He glances at his concepts - all hard lines, attempts that had become sharp without direction, and feels a whisper of inspiration in his head like a fizzling champagne bubble. 

Seeing them over the backdrop of Akira’s voice tilts Yusuke’s perception just so; he thinks of the delicate curve of Akira’s jaw, the messy curls of his hair, the affectionate slope of Morgana’s tail, and imagines the designs with softer edges. He twirls his pencil, prepared to get back to work as soon as the call is finished.

“Did you need me for something?” he adds, late.

"You're my only hope," Akira replies gravely, but Yusuke can hear the joke in his tone.

"So serious," he murmurs. "Well, Leader, I am at your command."

Akira laughs - it sounds fuller than usual, as if he's in a particularly good mood, and Yusuke finds that it's contagious.

"I was hoping you'd say something like that," he says softly, almost a purr - and just as Yusuke recalls where Akira is _supposed_ to be tonight, a question on the tip of his tongue, Akira asks, "can you come and pick me up? I'm in Shinjuku, and I need a - " - there's a confusing pause, and Yusuke would swear he can hear a soft hiccup - " - an escort. A _chaperone_."

Yusuke stops his pencil spinning, brows knit. Akira doesn't _sound_ like he's in danger, but the sudden lack of context makes him worry. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm just - um…"

"Akira?"

He holds the phone closer to his ear, as if hoping to glean more information about his surroundings, but that only means that when Akira turns away from the receiver to muffle a breathy giggle, Yusuke hears it perfectly. He blushes and turns to look at his sketchbook again, trying to distract himself by setting his pencil on top of it and touching it until it makes a perfect parallel line with the spine.

"Okay… I'm a little bit drunk," he finally admits - Yusuke's eyes widen.

"Really?" he blurts. For a few seconds, his entire opinion of Akira tilts on its axis under the weight of this new information, though Akira is quick enough to clarify:

"I actually didn't realize," he confesses, "but Miss Lala - uh, my boss - she - " Akira trails off, then tries again. "One of my customers gave me her drink," he explains. "Which was very good, and stronger than I thought it would be - which I know, because I drank all of it." Another brief laugh. "My boss caught me sort of in the middle of that process."

"Oh." Yusuke isn't entirely sure what to make of all of that. He blinks. "But you're unharmed otherwise?"

"Feeling kind of amazing, actually." Yusuke believes it - Akira sounds less stressed than he has since they'd met. "But Miss Lala doesn't want me to be alone? Or, uh, to be on the train and stuff by myself."

Nothing follows that, and Yusuke leans back a bit against the wall of his dorm, stretching his legs until his feet hang off the edge of his bed. "Because…"

"Because she wants to make sure I get home safe, I think." He sounds fond of whoever _Miss Lala_ is, and it makes Yusuke want to ask again about what his job actually entails, but it isn't his priority right now. He turns to watch the storm outside his window, contemplative.

"Just to be clear," he checks, "you want me to come up to Shinjuku to pick you up? And deliver you back to Leblanc?"

"My boss really wants someone to do that, yeah. And I would really - appreciate if it was you."

Yusuke feels his cheeks warm. He sits up, cradling the phone against his ear - he feels utterly unprepared for this venture, but the spontaneity of it appeals to him, and he's not sure he could ever turn Akira down for a favor anyway, given all he does to assist him.

"I can do it," he promises rashly, slipping off his bed and reaching for his boots. "Please text me directions from the station?"

"Yusuke, you're the _best_. My favorite."

His heart does a flip. "I'll be there in short order, Akira. Take care until then, alright?"

Akira bids him a warm goodbye but waits for Yusuke to hang up, which leaves him feeling dizzy when he finishes slipping his boots on and stands. He goes through a few reflexive checks - his belt, the loose collar of his shirt, his hair in the mirror - but he barely thinks about it, a mounting exhilaration for his unplanned trip sending him down to his dorm's ground floor in a rush.

Technically he's already breaking curfew by being on another floor so late, and he'll certainly beinsubordinate by the time he returns, but…

He swallows, nervously adjusting the fall of his shirt where it touches the keyring at his waist. Even with Madarame gone, Yusuke making slow progress through the detritus of his estate in the wake of his arrest, his influence lingers in the details: little privileges that have fallen through the cracks, that Yusuke feels guilty about every time he takes advantage of them.

Yusuke still remembers hearing about his appointment as the RA for his floor at Kosei. It had been an absent comment the day before about students tracking his studio hours and questioning his living situation - the next day, Madarame had placed the keyring in his palm and explained charitably that from then on, the only one Yusuke would have to answer to would be _him_.

He'd been grateful at the time, and the sting of it wrangles his next breath as he pushes the main doors open — only to be knocked out of his musing by the uncomfortably balmy gusts of the summer storm outside.

Oh. Right.

Yusuke squints out at it, as if a route with clear skies will appear if he simply looks hard enough, then bites his lip, eyes tracking back to the hallway.

A large umbrella sits in its designated bin beside the doors. He has no idea whose it is, but there is a newly familiar voice at the back of his head, something making a suggestion to him that he wouldn't have heard before: _you could just take it_.

He only hesitates briefly before he ducks into the hall to nab it, and as he makes his flustered way outside and down the dark walk to the front of the school, he swears he hears a tiny gleeful kit's laugh ringing in his ears.   
  


* * *

 Yusuke steps into the alcove in which Crossroads is housed as gracefully as he can to avoid a puddle forming at the curb, and he folds his umbrella in with a decisive pull.

He knows little about Akira's job tending bar - only that he'd asked after it one day and Akira had cheerfully said, _oh, the one at the flower shop?_ and he'd been too baffled to ever ask for clarification. Thankfully, the vibrant neon of the establishment's sign is obvious even in the downpour, and Yusuke manages to make his way there without incident.

Crossroads on the _inside_ isn't at all what Yusuke might have expected from the outside. He wipes his wet shoes on a shag doormat - each fabric piece a different pattern in buoyant red or candy pink - descends the short staircase to a second wooden door, this one with a blurry inlaid window, then slips into the main belly of the building: a homey space lit by dim pink stage lights, with a sturdy mahogany bar on one side and a nook opposite cordoned off with a sheer golden curtain. The bar is cuffed by plush purple seats that match the smooth hue of the low ceiling, and neon signs in sultry reds and oranges lend the whole space a welcoming air that reminds Yusuke of painted dusks, backed by starlight.

He likes it immediately.

From the doorway he notes a smattering of hastily taped up posters; there are prints advertising the local theatre, a list of web addresses next to a list of what appear to be stage names, and - Yusuke squints - there's an advertisement for what looks like a series of protests, headed with a stylized drawing of the Phantom Thieves logo he'd first designed for Madarame's calling card so many months ago.

Yusuke stares at that one for a long moment, seeing the familiarity in the design woven in with the hand of this particular artist, and feels the strangest sensation of _acceptance_.

He must be standing there for too long, for all he's attempted to scoot out of the way, because the bartender disrupts the easy rhythm of the music to lean across the bartop and call out toward him, startling him into standing up straight.

"Hey, Miss Blue!"

Yusuke blinks, then points at himself, tilting his head - he sees the bartender's deep red lips pull up in a smirk.

"Yes, you. Come on in."

Yusuke crosses to the bar in a few quick strides, bootheels click-clacking on the checkered linoleum.

"I'm sorry," he starts, but the woman raises a hand to stop him. Upon closer inspection, Yusuke finds himself distracted by the swoops of her makeup, by the regal shade of her kimono behind intricate twirls of gold leaf where it's all pulled delicately around her broad shoulders.

"Don't worry about it," she assures him - her tone reminds Yusuke of an old peer Madarame had introduced him to when he was small, easily distracted by the ornate pipe between his reedy fingers. A smoker, he thinks, though the air in the bar feels fresher than the muggy dew outside.

"You're picking someone up, yeah?"

Yusuke's first thought is that he might have the wrong building after all, his brain suddenly a tangle of warnings about exactly _what_ happens in the red-light district, and his eyes widen. 

"Erm - "

"Kurusu," she clarifies. One of her dark eyebrows bows up. "A friend of yours?"

"Oh! Yes, that's me. Ah - him. That's - I'm here to pick him up."

The bartender surprises him by rolling her eyes, looking equal parts amused and long-suffering, though Yusuke can't imagine why. He brushes a piece of hair back behind his ear where it's fallen out of place.

"Come with me," she offers, in lieu of any further explanation, and Yusuke falls into place behind her as she makes her way to the back of the room, passing a few occupied booths and giving one a cheeky wave with her brilliant acrylic nails.

Yusuke is just working out how best to try painting her when she stops, and he nearly crashes into her headfirst in front of an almost empty corner booth.

Almost empty.

" _Yusuke_ ," Akira greets, lifting his head from the pillow of his arms on the table and sounding an awful lot like Yusuke has brought him some incredible gift.

He waves and opens his mouth to say hello in reply, but the bartender has turned a skeptical eye toward him, and she speaks first: "This is the boyfriend?"

Yusuke's brows knit. "Pardon?"

The bartender is smirking again, looking suddenly delighted by his reaction, but Akira abruptly stands, legs bent awkwardly to account for the booth seat. He swings his bag over his shoulder, and Yusuke can hear Morgana complaining as if he'd tipped over. "This is the _friend_ , Miss Lala," Akira says, shuffling out of the booth and almost barreling right into Yusuke, who neatly dodges. "So we're leaving now, right? We're going."

"Um," Yusuke tries. He can sense Akira behind him, having made a little circle around where Yusuke feels pinned to the floor. "Are we? I admit I'm still not certain why I was called here, Miss - "

"Just Lala is fine," she provides, lips still poised in a perfect crooked smile. Yusuke gets the feeling that she's enjoying Akira's skittishness. "I asked your… _dear friend_ here to call you so you could keep an eye on him." 

Yusuke nods. "He explained that I would be escorting him home, but…"

Between Akira pulling on his arm - Yusuke thinks he's trying to be subtle, but he's really not succeeding - and Lala starting to herd them toward the door, Yusuke can't get any of his hundreds of questions out, and he gives Akira's boss a skeptical look as she takes her place behind the bar again.

Lala only puts one hand to her face, using the other to playfully shoo them past her.

"I insisted. _My_ customers are good people, baby, but that doesn't mean he'd be safe anywhere he chose to roam in Shinjuku."

Honestly, Yusuke still doesn't quite get it, but he does have the dawning awareness that that's probably a good thing. Akira is hovering behind him - not tall enough to be hanging over his shoulder but giving off the same feeling of lazy curiosity, droopy like a cat in a sunbeam - and Yusuke finds himself feeling glad that Lala was here.

"Alright," he says, "I'll make sure he gets back safe." Yusuke flinches as Akira suddenly drops his strong hands right on his shoulders, and he tries not to blush. Gracious, he's close.

"And _I'll_ make sure _he_ gets back safe from bringing me back safe," Akira vows. Yusuke's thoughts scatter when Akira gives his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs against the back of his neck, and it takes Akira actually using that grip to pull him backwards to remember what they were doing and where they were supposed to be going.

Lala only chuckles. "Good boys."

**Author's Note:**

> • the drink akira is in too much of a rush to really enjoy is a [pineapple upside-down cake martini](https://realhousemoms.com/pineapple-upside-down-cake-martini/).  
> • this fic is named after a poetry collection of richard siken's (boo, grey, get your titles from somewhere else, i know) of the same name. _war of the foxes_ has a lot to do with painting and being gay - AND IT HAS "FOX" IN THE NAME, FOR GOD'S SAKE. i couldn't resist!  
>  • feel free to come and say hello to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/losebetter) or [tumblr](http://losebetter.tumblr.com/)!


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